


Every Chance We Get

by EmmaArthur



Series: Every Chance We Get [1]
Category: Leverage
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Autism, Autistic Character, Autistic Parker, Blind Character, Blind Eliot, Canon Autistic Character, Disabled Character, Gen, autistic Eliot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-27
Updated: 2018-12-08
Packaged: 2019-05-29 14:49:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 17,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15075464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmmaArthur/pseuds/EmmaArthur
Summary: Eliot waves his right hand, showing him what he is holding. Nate takes a sharp breath in surprise. He has not paid attention to it so far, but now that he looks, he recognizes a folded white and red cane.“You're still...blind?” he asks hesitantly.





	1. Nigerian Job

**Author's Note:**

> [CW: mentions of sequestration, physical abuse, injuries, non-graphic description of a cut and stitches]  
> This is my first Leverage fic. It's a short AU and missing scenes from the pilot episode, meant to be the setting for a much longer series spanning the entire series and beyond, which will be Eliot-centered.

Nate sits back and goes over the files Dubenich has provided him one more time, looking for flaws in his plans. He is relaxing in an armchair in the hotel suite the man provided him with yesterday when he agreed to take the job, since Nate missed his plane as a result. Nate has taken advantage of the fully-equipped minibar to get himself some more whiskey while he waits for the other members of his new crew to arrive.

Eliot Spencer is the first to walk in. Nate has been through all kinds of emotion since he saw his name in Dubenich's files, not sure what to think about him. He has chased both Alec Hardison and the mysterious Parker, but Eliot is the one he has real history with.

It's not a peaceful history. From their first meeting, over seven years ago, when Nate rescued at the last minute the couple Eliot was trying to eliminate and almost got himself killed in the process, to their last encounter, most of their interactions have been fraught with pain and fear. Even when they ended up working together on retrievals, the circumstances never allowed for a light-hearted friendship.

And Nate doesn't know how to feel about the fact that the last time he saw Eliot, almost four years ago, he left the retrieval specialist lying in a hospital bed with a body broken beyond repair, dealing with the aftermath of two months of torture at the hands of his former employer, screaming at Nate that he should have left him to die.

Before yesterday, Nate had no idea whether he was even still alive. He did some research as soon as he saw Eliot's name, and it looks like he got back into the game right after Sam got sick and Nate stopped caring enough to keep himself informed. Very little else is said about him, only that he still is one of the best retrieval specialists in the world. So Nate has no idea what to expect.

Eliot looks just like he did before. His hair is longer and his face a little older, but those are the only obvious differences. He walks in with the calm demeanor that has always been his signature and there is no hesitation in his steps when he goes straight to Nate.

“Nathan Ford,” he says, coolly but with no animosity.

“Eliot. It's been a while.”

Nate almost wants to smile, like greeting an old friend, but he catches himself. They have never been friends, always on different sides of the law in what seemed an irreconcilable way, back then. But they have been through rough times together, and even rougher times since they last saw each other, and now they are supposed to be on the same side for the job.

“Yeah. Listen, I heard about your kid. I'm sorry,” Eliot says, his voice turning softer.

The sentence provokes strong feelings in Nate, and he chokes on his drink. How can Eliot Spencer, who has killed so many innocent people, talk to him about Sam? There was a time when Eliot would not have thought about it twice if he had been sent to murder Nate's whole family.

“You don't know anything about that,” he snaps.

But instead of reliving Sam dying in this hospital bed, like he always does these days, Nate remembers the young man who came to him defeated, running from his former employer because he refused to keep killing people. The same young man who came so close to being tortured to death when they caught up with him, and who payed so dearly for his change of heart. Nate relaxes minutely, surprised.

“Everybody knows,” Eliot says. “Guy like you goes off the streets, a lot of people notice. And it was a bad story too.”

Eliot looks genuinely sad. Nate tries to catch his eyes, but can't quite manage.

“What about you?” he asks instead. “I see you recovered well enough.”

“Yeah, mostly,” Eliot says with something on his face that looks halfway between a smile and a grimace.

“At least you're back in business, right? 'Cause it didn't look like that would ever happen, back there.”

“I didn't think it would be possible, for a while. But you know, you can always adapt.” Eliot waves his right hand, showing him what he is holding. Nate takes a sharp breath in surprise. He has not paid attention to it so far, but now that he looks, he recognizes a folded white and red cane.

“You're still...blind?” he asks hesitantly.

“Yeah. Hasn't changed.”

No one was able to conclusively tell Eliot, back at the hospital when Nate was still there, whether he would ever be able to heal or regain his sight, only saying that the prospect did not look great. Nate feels a sudden rush of guilt that he never came back after Eliot threw him out. Has he gone through the recovery all alone?

“And you can still work?” he asks.

“I wouldn't be here if I couldn't.”

“Right.” In his research last night, Nate saw nothing indicating that Eliot is any less good than he was before, if you discount the year-and-a-half long gap where he lay under the radar. It does not seem to be common knowledge that he is blind, and it's likely most of his clients don't even know.

Nate tries to get back on track, away from the shock and grief. “Okay, then. Since I'm going to be planning the job, I'll need you to tell me where to make adjustments for this.”

“As long as you don't plan on me driving, I should be fine, but sure,” Eliot says, coming closer. He reaches down to find the back of the other armchair and bends to check that it is empty before sitting down, tucking his cane into his jacket. He looks at Nate, meeting his eyes just as well as if he could see, and smiles wryly. Nate looks away, embarrassed to have been caught staring.

“Let's go over it before the others arrive, then.”

 

Eliot is having fun, betting with himself on how long it will take Parker and Hardison to notice his blindness. Nate has not spilled the beans yet, playing along, though Eliot has felt his stare most of the way from the hotel suite where they met up to when he left them to climb to the roof of the building they are casing.

They have gone over the dozen plans Nate made in case his first idea doesn't work. It seemed like overkill to Eliot, especially since so many of the plans rely on things they have no control over, but Nate was like a fish in water. It seems that for all his years chasing thieves and frauds, his brilliant mind was just waiting for a chance to show off its gift for masterminding cons.

Eliot smirks at the idea, then turns his attention back to what the others are saying, just in time to extend a hand for Hardison to drop something into it when he hears his voice changing direction. He investigates the small item with his fingers and recognizes the shape of an earbud. He carefully puts it in his ear.

“You're not as useless as you look,” Eliot says when he hears Hardison's voice like it's inside his head. He doesn't actually know much about what Hardison looks like but this is fun. He can hear Nate's light snort in the com.

While checking he has everything he needs in his bag, he takes the time to make sure the com does not impair his hearing. It does, a little bit, but it should be fine enough just for this job. The click of the bag's metal buckle still tells him all he wants to know, highlighting the metal structure around them and the emptiness of the night from the top of the building.

“Is this thing safe?” he asks anyway. Hardison's ridiculous response makes him growl, but Nate's voice in his ear rattles him much more. Being used to orientate himself by sounds, his brain is immediately confused as to where it comes from, and it's unsettling. This could be a problem if someone starts talking when he needs to concentrate. He shrugs, deciding to cross that bridge when he comes to it.

Eliot hears Parker start running before Hardison does. Her happy shout as she jumps off the building makes him shake his head. She really is crazy.

He follows Hardison until they reach the metal ladder down to the elevator shaft. Nate has told them in details where they are supposed to go, so Eliot just lets Hardison find the right place and climbs down behind him. By the amount of fumbling Hardison does, he suspects there isn't much light to see by anyway.

Parker surprises them both by activating the elevator before they are ready, but after that it's just a game of listening carefully and following Hardison as close as possible.

When they reach the server room they want to break into, Eliot puts down the bag where it won't bother him later and positions himself in the middle of the corridor, where he can best watch out for any danger while Hardison does his work on the electronic lock.

He hears the security guards coming two corridors away. They are not exactly being discreet, running in heavy boots and yelling to each other, and he is expecting them. He already knows from Nate that there are four of them, but it's easy to check that they have not been joined by others.

“Eliot, what I want you to do is clear the zone,” Nate says. “And use Hardison as bait.”

“Then just stay quiet,” Eliot murmurs. He needs as much concentration as possible if he is going against four armed guys. It would not do to miss a clue because one of the others is talking his ear off.

Hardison doesn't stop speaking, of course, he had talked almost non-stop ever since they have been introduced, but it's actually a good thing since it allows Eliot to keep track of where he is. He starts to worry when he hears Hardison pick up the bag and move, but his plan is already in motion: the four guards have arrived right where he wants them. He counts his steps to get exactly between two of them and strikes.

None of the four have time to move from their battle formation, and none of them fight back. In under ten seconds, they're all down. Eliot listens for another five seconds to check they are not getting back up and throws the gun he lifted off the first guard behind his shoulder, the clip falling close to his feet. He carefully takes note of where each of the bodies lies around him, taking advantage of the clear sound of the gun hitting the floor to echolocate with precision, so he won't trip over them.

He smiles at Hardison who, given that he has now been silent for over thirty seconds, is probably eyeballing him. “That's what I do,” he says with a smile.

The door beeps and opens before Hardison can answer, and then he stops paying attention to Eliot as they approach it.

The server room gives off strange feedback. It sounds like a corridor, but the walls reflect sound too much to be made of plaster or wood. Eliot understands when he walks in and touches the closest wall. It is not a wall, but a glass case, behind which he assumes are the computer servers. Hardison is now in his element, so Eliot goes back out to tie up the guards and drag them in.

“Guys, guys, you've got to talk to me, okay? 'Cause I don't know what's going on!” Nate says though the com. Eliot snorts, recognizing the feeling: Nate hates being blind. He hears Nate's apologizing laugh under Hardison's answer when he realizes what is funny.

Eliot just has to follow Hardison's voice again on the way out. As long as he stays a step behind, it works fine. Voice is not the best sound for echolocation, but the corridors in a building with that much security are designed to be run in and offer little cover, so they are large and empty, with no badly placed steps to stumble on or door frames to run into. Eliot would normally have used his white cane anyway for safety, but he is having a lot of fun keeping Hardison, so to say, in the dark.

As he hears Parker announce that their exit is blown, he prepares to bolt. Just because he has accepted to work with a team does not mean he's willing to go down for them. But he is also in a strange building, with a security system he has not had a chance to fully case out, and Nate is the one who has the blueprints.

He figures his best chance is to go down and take out the four other guards. It will be much harder than the first men, now that they are fully warned of the breach, but he can take them by surprise if he plays his cards well.

Then he remembers the plans he and Nate have discussed. Nate took advantage of checking his ideas work when including Eliot's blindness as a factor to pick his brain about Eliot's own specialty: making it out of tight situations. That's the main difference between a heist and a retrieval job. A heist usually has an exit plan built in, and it is pulled as a whole. But retrieval is done in two part: going in and getting the object you've been hired to retrieve, and then getting out. And getting out safely usually means making it up along the way.

Except that when Eliot has to get out, it's normally on his own, or if he is retrieving a person, with someone willing to follow his lead. He doesn't know how to account for two other independent people with crazy ideas of their own.

Apparently Nate does.

“I need you to hold it together for seven more minutes,” he says. Eliot swears to himself that he'll kill the man if he gets caught in those seven minutes. “We're going with the burn scam.”

Eliot nods. It's one of the ideas they discussed, which has the advantage of relying purely on confidence, rather than violence. Despite his ability to fight, beating up people is always messy and should never be the first choice, as far as Eliot is concerned.

He follows Hardison to the elevator and they start rummaging through their bags to find their change of clothes. Eliot hears Hardison's slight gasp of surprise when Parker enters and and he is puzzled for a moment until he figures out from the sounds that she has started undressing on the spot. He turns away for good measure and concentrates on getting his tie on.

He lets Hardison do Parker's burn makeup by busying himself with the knee brace, then puts Parker's arm around his shoulder. It works with their act, but it is also perfect since he can let Parker guide him out that way without her even knowing.

It is a good thing, because with his concentration divided he might have missed the low metal post his knee brushes against, or ran into the revolving doors. Eliot hates revolving doors. They are awfully hard to hear accurately.

Nate is waiting for them in a car outside. He drives them a mile from the building, to be safely away when the security guards are found, and they debrief in a small park out of the way, where no one will witness their little group. Hardison sends the data they have stolen to the address Nate gives him, and they all go their own way, with a promise of payment by the next morning.

Eliot waits for Hardison and Parker to be out of his hearing range before he goes through his bag to find his cane and his phone. He unfolds the cane with a flick of his wrist and listens carefully. He can feel Nate's stare at his back again.

“Want a ride home?” Nate asks. Of course. Nate, being the good guy that he is, would not leave the blind man on his own on a random sidewalk, even after Eliot has proved himself perfectly able to take care of himself. Eliot smiles. “Sure.” His hotel is halfway across town and it will certainly be easier than calling a taxi at this time of the night.

 

Eliot gets little more than an hour of sleep in his hotel room, as is customary for him whenever he is in a strange place. He has been up for several hours doing Tai Chi and booking his flight home when he gets the call. Dubenich is not going to pay them because he has not received the designs. He wants to meet them all in a company warehouse outside of town. This makes no sense to Eliot and he doesn't like it, but he does want to get paid, so he calls a taxi.

He has the cab pull up right outside the warehouse entrance. He walks in slowly with his cane swiping widely in front of him, not knowing what to expect. The place sounds hollow. It's empty, not just of people, but actually abandoned. This makes even less sense: why would Dubenich want to meet them here?

Eliot stays close to the door, out of the way where he can touch the wall at his back and hear anyone coming. He folds his cane and slides it into his jacket, to have his hands free in case he needs to fight.

He hears Hardison's voice before he hears his footsteps, but he doesn't quite foresee the gun pressed to his temple. “You want to tell me what happened to the designs?”

“What makes you think I know what happened?” Eliot snaps. “Stupid.” He slowly raises his hand to push the gun away and starts retreating into the room.

He almost laughs when Hardison starts accusing him of somehow stealing the files from him. How would he have done that? Hardison had the flash drive the whole time, as far as he knows. Hell, he doesn't even know where the man kept it!

By the echoing sounds of their voices, they are now in the middle of the warehouse. Eliot hears another set of footsteps coming their way and tenses, but Nate announces himself by yelling before he can do anything.

“Did you do it?” Eliot asks immediately, now sufficiently riled up to start really losing his cool. The situation is playing havoc with his instincts and he doesn't like it. “You're the only one who's ever played both sides.”

“Yeah, you seem pretty relaxed for a guy with a gun pointed at him.”

“Safety's on,” Eliot mutters. That's why he was surprised to feel the gun on his face.

After taking the gun from Hardison, Nate asks, “You armed?”

Eliot just raises an eyebrow at him. “I don't like guns.”

It's probably not what Nate wants to know, but Eliot has no reason to give him anything more. And he could, technically, use a gun, though it is true he doesn't like them. They're just too hard to control. He has trained himself to shoot accurately with echolocation, just in case he ever needs it, but he would rather level the playing field by fighting with his bare hands.

Parker would not, apparently, and she actually knows how to use the weapon. The sound of her cocking her gun is almost deafening in the empty warehouse. Listening with one hear to Nate talking her down, Eliot starts to put the pieces together in his head. None of them had a good reason to sabotage this job. So why has Dubenich not received the plans? And why would he have them all meet him here, and not be there when they arrived? They had done their part, he is supposed to do his. Unless…

Nate and Eliot come to the same conclusion at the same time: Dubenich needs them all here to eliminate them.

Eliot doesn't have time to orientate himself or get his cane out before they all start running. He tries to keep track of Nate and follow him closely, but he crashes right into the stairs up to the closing gate with a pained groan.

Nate must have remembered Eliot can't see where he is going, because he feels a hand grab him by his jacket and pull him up. Eliot runs up the stairs with difficulty and tries to get to the door, but Nate pulls them both down just as the room explodes. Eliot instinctively wraps himself around Nate's body, pulling their faces together, and tries to protect his exposed ears with his hands. The last thing he feels is the strength of the blast that throws them against the wall.

 

Eliot wakes up in the hospital. He has been in enough hospital beds to recognize one immediately, however battered and disoriented he feels. He can hear machines beeping, though none in the room he is in, which means he's not in the ICU, and people walking up and down the corridor. Hardison's voice is coming from somewhere above, but it sounds somewhat distant. Eliot can't quite figure out where the man is.

Since no threat seems to be jumping at him, Eliot stays still and starts by taking stock of his body. He feels fine overall, though his left shoulder feels like it's bruising rapidly. He's still dressed in his shirt and pants, but doesn't have his jacket on, and most of the pain is coming from his right forearm. He closes his fingers to find his hand bandaged and hisses when it pulls at the injury.

A few clicks of his tongue tell him everything he needs to know about the room he is in. There is another bed on his right, and the door is to his left toward the foot of the bed. There is a smaller sound shadow toward the back of the room, probably a chair, too small to have a person in it. Eliot is reasonably sure he is the only one awake in the room.

Eliot tries to sit up, but his left arm snags when he raises it. It's handcuffed to something, most likely the bed rail. Eliot's breathing speeds up immediately and he swears. He hates being restrained.

Hardison stops ranting at his swearing. “Eliot, you there?” he asks instead.

“Yeah,” Eliot says. His voice sounds rough even to his ears, his throat dry from whatever smoke he inhaled.

“You okay? You were bleeding when the ambulance took you.”

“I'm fine. Have they processed us yet?”

“Yeah, they just left. Is Nate here with you?”

Eliot pauses. His echolocation is not quite good enough to tell for sure if someone is in the other bed as long as they're immobile, and even then he has no way to know whether or not it is Nate. He opens his mouth to say so, figuring there is little point in hiding his blindness anymore, but Nate's voice precedes him.

“I'm here.”

Metallic clicks tell Eliot that Nate is handcuffed too and has just found out. Nate seems to be panicking, which strangely has the inverse effect on Eliot, calming him down. He is handcuffed to the bed, yes, but it is something he can fix easily enough, and he's not alone. He has been in worse situations before. At least he can move.

“You don't like hospitals,” he observes, thinking idly that the last time they saw each other was in a hospital. Eliot doesn't like them either, but hospitals are better than some other places. You don't get hurt in hospitals, usually.

“Not much,” Nate sighs.

“It's about time!” Parker's voice comes from the same place as Hardison's did. Eliot turns his head again, trying to figure it out. The source is somewhere high on the wall behind the beds.

“Air vent,” Nate murmurs, understanding his confusion. “They're in the room beside us.”

Eliot nods to him in thanks. He sits up cross-legged in the bed, since he can't lower the railing because of the handcuffs, to be able to look at his right arm with his bound hand. His right sleeve has been pulled up to his elbow, and the dressing goes up his wrist and most of his forearm. Going by the pain, it covers a fairly deep stitched-up wound. Eliot sighs. This is going to make using his cane much harder.

He finds his jacket slung on the foot of the bed. His cane is thankfully still in the pocket, though his phone is gone. He can't put the jacket back on with the handcuffs, but he runs his hand down the fabric to check for damage. The right sleeve is ripped, but not so badly that it would be immediately visible. It's probably not salvageable though, even if there is no blood on it, of which Eliot is less than sure.

He keeps an ear on Nate and Hardison arguing on how to get out of there. Eliot has been thinking it over and he knows he can't take all the cops and hospital staff when he doesn't know the layout of the hospital. He quickly figures out that none of them can get out on their own, except perhaps Parker. 

“Look guys, here’s your problem,” Nate says. “You all know what you can do, I know what all you can do, so that gives me the edge.”

“I don't trust these guys,” Parker sulks.

“Do you trust me?”

Eliot smiles. “Of course,” he says. “You're an honest man.”

And Nate has gotten him out of a much worse situation before. Eliot doesn't know if he can trust this new, bitter Nate with anything else, but he will trust him to get them out.

“So the trick is to give them what they want. They're expecting a phone call, right?” Nate says.

He presses the phone Parker passes him into Eliot's hand, reaching over the gap between their beds. Eliot gives Nate an annoyed look and pushes it back into his hands. He can't use a phone without a screen reader. “Right,” Nate apologizes. He punches a few buttons and hands it back.

Pretending to be a cop on the phone is easy enough, and Eliot very much enjoys listening to Nate invent a perfect cover on the spot, he who keeps insisting he's not a thief. Five minutes later Hardison is there to take them to the police car that has been nicely provided for them by the local police. Eliot takes advantage of the situation to let Hardison guide him out, though he almost snaps when Hardison bangs his head on the car's door frame. But then, Hardison still doesn't know that he can't see it.

 

After ditching the car, Hardison leads them to his own apartment, a large, open-floor place in which Eliot is careful not to move around too much. He can hear what sounds like pillars, and possibly steps in the middle of the room, and he doesn't trust himself not to trip on something.

As soon as they are safely inside, Hardison hands them each plane tickets to get out of the city, though Eliot's is useless to him until he gets someone to read him the information printed on it.

The job is a failure, and people in their business know when to let go. Dubenich tried to kill them, which makes Eliot angry, but sometimes you have to accept a loss. Dubenich will be well protected. Their fingerprints are still in the system, because pretending to be the FBI is just that: pretending. It does not erase prints that have already been processed. They will get their revenge another day. Or, more likely, whichever of them gets there first will get their revenge, since they don't plan on seeing each other again.

Except that Nate suddenly wants to run a con on the man. And Eliot really wants to see that. Nate was very good as an insurance investigator, but there is something about seeing him on the other side, not chasing thieves but being one. In this new role, the man is truly brilliant.

It's different. It's exciting. It's maybe worth spending a little more time with these crazy people Eliot is almost starting to like.

 

Eliot makes it through another night, including a god-awful play at the theater and meeting Nate's grifter friend Sophie Devereaux, without Hardison or Parker noticing his blindness, but Sophie figures it out about two minutes after she gets to Hardison's apartment.

The loft is hard to navigate, so Eliot has been careful. At this point, he is not actively trying to hide that he can't see, but he has not taken his cane out, wanting to know how long it will take Hardison or Parker to figure it out. Sophie beats them to it.

But Sophie, despite the awful acting, is an excellent grifter, so she also understands immediately what he is doing. Instead of saying anything, she guides him discreetly to the couch and sits beside him, bumping his shoulder to let him know she's willing to play along.

Which means that the next morning at their briefing, when Nate starts giving them roles in the new con, Parker and Hardison still don't know.

“Hardison, we'll need you to handle the technology from here. Parker, you'll slip into Dubenich's office to plant the microphones. Eliot… Damn, you can't actually do the IT technician, can you?”

“Well if it requires using a screen, it might be a bit complicated,” Eliot says.

“Why wouldn't you be able to use a screen?” Hardison asks. “I can walk you through it, we just need to keep the girl's attention away from the office.”

“Actually, I can probably do better,” Eliot says. “She seems like a helpful girl. What do you think she would she do if a blind guy walked into her office looking lost?”

“Oh, perfect,” Nate says without a pause. “Yes, yes, of course, she would guide you wherever you want to go, right?”

“But can you pull it off, Eliot? It's a pretty tough role,” Sophie says, a smirk in her voice.

“Well, if I can pull off being sighted well enough for Hardison and Parker, there should be no problem, right?” Eliot holds back his laughter. He hears Parker's surprised inhale.

“Wait, man, what?” Hardison exclaims. Eliot just pulls his folded cane out of his jacket and waves it at him. “You're blind?”

Eliot smirks at his shock. “Yeah,” he confirms.

He feels Parker lean toward him and the air moving in front of his face. “Yes, Parker, I really can't see you waving your hand,” he says. People do this often enough for him to know exactly what it feels like.

“Then how did you know I was doing it?” Parker asks, completely unembarrassed.

“It makes sound move differently.”

“It does?” Her voice comes in bursts, like she is doing it in front of her own face to check. “I can't hear anything different.”

“That's because you don't know how to listen,” Eliot says.

 

So Eliot puts on some sunglasses and goes into the assistant's office behind Sophie, trying to look as lost as possible. They need the woman to be distracted while Parker goes to plant a microphone in Dubenich's office, so Nate picked the spot furthest from her office for Eliot to pretend he has to get to. The young woman is, in fact, very helpful and guides him all the way there, even reluctant to leave him on his own.

Few people refuse to help a blind man looking lost. A great many people actually try to help Eliot even when he is not lost, grabbing his arm when he waits to cross a street without even asking. Eliot has long had to curb his reflex to consider any unexpected contact a threat and immediately grab whoever touches him by the throat.

Parker comes to collect Eliot in the lobby when she's done. He has made his way back with little trouble, simply asking a second person for his way. His orientation is good enough that he could have found his own way, but the corridors were busy: it took less than a minute before someone came over to ask if he wanted help.

Parker announces herself by tapping his shoulder, though he has picked out her quiet, dancing gait from across the lobby.

“So, how do I become your guide dog?” Parker asks.

“I don't need a dog, Parker,” Eliot said, willing to be patient because Parker's lack of shame is rather refreshing. Most people will beat around the bush, trying not to reference his blindness directly, but Parker doesn't hesitate to ask questions. That the questions she asks are somewhat unexpected, he can deal with. “I don't really need a guide, either, but it's better if I can keep track of you.”

“And how do you do that?”

Eliot figures it can't hurt to teach her properly, even if they never see each other again after this job. He shoves his cane under his arm to have his hands free. “Give me your hand.”

“Which one?”

“The right. There, if you do that−” Eliot uses his right hand to tap hers against the back of his left hand. “− then I know to take your elbow.” He does just that, then takes his cane again. “Now you can walk normally and I'll follow. I'm using my cane, so this is just to know where you are. I can also listen for your footsteps, but you're light and there's too much noise around for that to be easy.”

Parker starts walking slowly, then faster when she sees he is following without trouble. “What do I do if there's a door?”

“Tell me. Then if we can't go through side by side, you put your arm behind your back and I'll step behind.”

“Like this?” They have reached the entrance doors and Eliot feels her arm shift. “Yes, but do it earlier next time, so I have time to get behind you,” he says. He heard the automatic door open and found the threshold with his cane, or he would have walked right into the door jamb.

“Sorry,” Parker says.

“It's okay, that's why I'm not letting you actually guide me.”

“This is kind of fun!” Parker exclaims as she leads him onto the sidewalk. Eliot smiles. This is not the reaction he usually gets.

They walk down the road toward Sophie's car to wait for her. As he feared, Eliot is getting jolts of pain in his bandaged hand every time his cane swipe changes direction. He is having trouble keeping his cane at the right angle as well, since his wrist won't bend all the way, so the cane handle snags into his stomach when it bumps on obstacles. Eliot considers briefly whether he can trust Parker enough to let her guide him all the way, but he decides against it. He likes his independence.

“So, how does it look?” Parker asks when they have climbed into Sophie's car, Eliot in the passenger seat and Parker in the back.

“How does what look?”

“Being blind. Is it all dark? I was afraid of the dark when I was small.”

Eliot smiles. Once more, this is a question he is asked often enough, but Parker has her own way of going at it. “No, it's not really dark,” he answers. “Just...nothing, I guess. It's kind of hard to explain.”

“Like when you close you eyes? But wait, you wouldn't know, would you?”

“I wasn't born blind, Parker,” Eliot answers patiently. “And no, it's not really like that. You can still see light when you close your eyes, that's why most people sleep in dark rooms.”

Parker is silent for a moment.

“I can still see where the sun is through the window when my eyes are closed,” she says after a while. “But you can't?”

“No, I can't.”

“Then if you can't see the light, it can't be dark either, right?”

“That's right,” Eliot laughs.

Parker really is something else. She is like a small child, all excited because she has figured this out. Eliot can hear her hands flapping, and his smile widens even more.

“I like it when you laugh,” she says after a while. Eliot shuts his mouth and scowls.

 

They collectively decide to stay holed up in Hardison's apartment again until their con goes down the day after tomorrow. None of them except Sophie can go back to their hotel, and there are probably Wanted posters with their faces on them by now in the local police department, so it's safer this way.

Eliot is just figuring out the layout of the place, because it still doesn't make much sense to him. There are a bunch of steps in the middle of the main room, between the pillars, and he tends to run into them if he forgets to pay special attention. Steps are not the easiest thing to hear through echolocation and his cane is just not practical indoors, swiping five feet in front of him. He's good at mapping places out in his head, but not good enough that he avoids stumbling on the damn steps every time.

Having asked her questions, Parker goes right back to her own world, leaving Eliot alone. But Hardison has been tentative with him since he learned of his blindness. Eliot is not sure whether the man is still annoyed at having been conned for a while and is trying to catch Eliot somehow making a faux pas, to prove he's not really blind, or if he is just this uncomfortable when faced with disability.

In the end, Eliot gets tired of waiting for him to come around and goes to him, sitting beside him in front of the computer screens. “What is it?” he asks.

“What's what?” Hardison sounds guarded.

“You haven't said a word to me since we came back, and you've been trying not to look at me.”

“How do you even know that?” Hardison says defensively. This is good, it means he is reacting hotly, not thinking about what he says too much. It beats him watching his every word because he's afraid to say something wrong.

“I'm blind, not stupid,” Eliot says. “You keep scrambling to get out of my way every time I come close to you. You don't need to treat me differently just because I can't see. I can take care of myself.”

“Sorry,” Hardison says sheepishly. “I've just never been around someone who's blind before.”

Eliot nods. So it's just general awkwardness, not some convoluted ableist nonsense. However annoying Hardison's geeky, no-care-in-the-world persona is, he has at least the merit of being frank.

“How did you do it?” Hardison asks after a pause.

“How did I do what?”

“Pretend you could see. I didn't notice a thing.”

“You were too busy to pay attention,” Eliot answers. “Most people only see what they expect to see. That's why I couldn't fool Sophie, it's her job to notice these things.”

“But you did everything right. I've been thinking about it, and I can't remember a moment when you looked lost or you missed some visual cue.”

“I just listen. I can get an idea of what's around me by listening to the way sounds bounces on things.”

“You mean like a sonar?”

“Yeah, pretty much. It's called echolocation. You can look it up.”

Hardison types something on his keyboard. Eliot waits patiently while he presumably reads whatever he's found, though he doubts Hardison remembers that screens are no use to him.

“So how much do you hear?” Hardison asks after a while.

Eliot hesitates. He doesn't usually discuss his abilities and limits with anyone, if only because he often relies on being underestimated. But what are the chances that they will meet again after this job and be on opposite sides, or that Hardison could use Eliot's disability to his advantage? They might both be part of the criminal world, but they have very different jobs. There is a reason they have never crossed paths before. Eliot mentally weights that with the benefit of Hardison being much more comfortable with him for the rest of the job, and decides it's worth the risk.

“It's not exactly rocket science,” he says. “I can tell more or less how big the room is, and where the pillars and bigger pieces of furniture are. But their shapes ain't really precise, so I have to guess what they are.”

“Okay.” Hardison now sounds curious rather than embarrassed, so that's progress. “But you still use a white cane?”

“There's a lot of things that are hard to hear, like curbs or holes in the ground. And I use the metal tip to give me the sound I need for echolocation. It also keeps most people from running into me thinking I'm going to step aside.”

“Oh. Then why didn't you use it the last few days?”

“I needed to prove I could handle myself, didn't I? And, you know, it was fun watching you and Parker completely miss it!”

Hardison groans. Eliot smirks at him and escapes his good-natured punch in the shoulder by standing up and walking away.

 

After dinner, for which they order take-out again, Eliot finds himself sitting down beside Nate on the couch. Nate has proposed a game of pool, taking advantage of the table, but Hardison is behind his screens again, and Parker has scattered who knows where. Sophie has gone to get her things from her hotel and is not back yet. Nate turns hopefully to Eliot as his last chance, but Eliot just gives him a look. He can hear Nate's sigh when he realizes that playing pool actually requires sight.

Eliot hesitates to start a serious conversation. Since he showed up in Nate's hotel room two days ago, all of their exchanges have been tainted with grief and guilt, and they should get that out of the air if they want to work together any further, but Eliot isn't sure how this is going to go.

Eliot truly feels bad for Nate. He is not the same man he was before the death of his son. The gifted, self-confident insurance investigator Eliot met years ago through the scope of a sniper rifle has become a broken, drunken man without a job or a family.

Being told Nate would be the one running this job is the only reason Eliot even showed up. He hasn't heard anything about the man since the death of his son, and Eliot still owes Nate his life. But seeing Nate in person, with his deep-seated grief that comes out in the manic edge of his voice, it's different from what he imagined this reunion was going to be.

“You seem better than when we started,” Eliot says in the end, cracking open his beer. He is not entirely sure what Nate is doing, since he doesn't seem to be turning the pages of a book or handling papers, and nothing is playing on the TV. He offers a second beer to Nate, then shrugs and puts it back down when Nate makes no move to take it. “And that bothers you, huh?” he adds.

“I… Well, I mean, this isn't supposed to feel...” Nate hesitates.

“Good?” Nate doesn't respond, so Eliot continues. “It's not that hard to figure out. Dubenich screwed you. He cheated by stealing from that other company and your good guy brain sees him as the bad guy. Your conscience is clear.”

Nate is fundamentally a good guy, and his former job meant he defined himself as the opposite of the criminals he chased. Even if he is enjoying this job, he will never see himself as a thief. Personally, Eliot thinks he is just lying to himself, given how good he is at this, but it's none of his business.

But even when they were on opposite sides of the law, and Nate made his disapproval of Eliot's choices clear every time they met, he didn't hesitate to go digging when Eliot disappeared in the middle of one of their long games of cat and mouse. And Eliot would not be here today if he had not.

“Listen, I never thanked you for saving my life that day,” he says more quietly. Quite the contrary, the last time Nate came to visit him in the hospital, Eliot hurled all kinds of abuse at him. He had his reasons, none of which were actually Nate's fault, but it's no wonder Nate never contacted him again.

“You weren't in any state to do it.” The grief is back in Nate's voice.

“Maybe not. But still, thank you. If you hadn't pulled me out of that basement...” Eliot shudders.

“You're welcome. I just wish I'd found you faster.”

Eliot nods. It took almost two months for Nate to track down where his captors were holding him. He arrived at the last moment, when Eliot was already hanging between life and death, his body damaged beyond repair.

It suddenly clicks in his mind. Nate's hesitation the last few days, the hint of sadness in his voice that's only there when he's watching Eliot, different than the rough despair that stays buried underneath, it's the mirror image of what Eliot has been feeling himself toward him. Nate is seeing his blindness and mourning the man he once knew, who was whole and healthy.

Eliot is both annoyed and strangely touched. He is tired of people assuming that being disabled makes him somehow less, diminished, and it's much worse when it comes from someone he respects. Pity is something he cannot stand.

But then Nate is the one person who saw him at his worst, who has even a vague idea of the price he's paid to get where he is now. In some ways, it's a wonder he can still stand to look at Eliot, let alone care enough to feel compassion for him.

“I'm okay, Nate, really,” he says. “It was rough for a while, but I've made my peace with it.”

He stomps down on the reflex to flex his hand, which always comes when these particular memories surface, and he fiddles instead with his bottle's cap.

“I see that. You were…impressive, last night.”

The hesitation says more than Nate's actual words, but Eliot is not sure he wants to stick around for the questions that are sure to come from it.

“Well, I'm glad you're enjoying being on my side, for once,” he teases as an evasion.

“Eliot, you and I are not friends.” Nate's tone is annoyed, but also just a little fond.

“Right,” Eliot says with a smile. “'Cause you have so many of them.”

 

Showering the next morning, Eliot decides he really needs to change the dressing on his arm. With everything going on, he had almost forgotten about it, but he still doesn't really know what's underneath the bandage, having been stitched up while unconscious. They conned their way out of the hospital too fast for him to ask.

He could do it himself, has done it multiple times before, but it would really be better to have a pair of eyes to tell him if there's any sign of infection. And check that none of the stitches have popped, because doing that by touch _hurts_.

He almost asks Nate, but the thought stirs a memory of lying on a concrete floor with Nate crouched over him, holding his hand and trying to keep him awake while he struggled to breathe. Eliot shivers. Maybe Nate and injury should not be put in the same sentence for now.

Hardison seems the type to swoon at the sight of blood, and Parker is too unreliable to trust with this. It leaves Sophie.

“Hey Sophie, can you help me with something?” Eliot calls, coming out of the bathroom.

“Yes?” Sophie stands up from the couch. Eliot waits until he is sure she's facing him and points to his arm. “Of course. Bathroom?”

“Yeah. Hardison, you have a first-aid kit?”

“Below the bathroom sink,” Hardison answers from behind his computer screens.

“Thanks.” Eliot walks back into the bathroom and feels around the sink for the cabinet's door handle.

“I'll get it,” Sophie says, coming in after him.

Eliot restrains himself from snapping that he can do it, because he's fairly sure Sophie doesn't think him incapable. He steps instead back to give her access to the sink and sits down on the stool by the door. He pats the bandage to find the tape holding the end and starts unrolling it, but it snags with a twinge of pain after only a couple of turns. Blood must have soaked through.

Sophie drags a second stool beside him and takes over, taking his hand in her own and spraying hydrogen peroxide to make the bandage come loose. She is very gentle and surprisingly competent, and although letting her touch him like that makes Eliot's skin crawl, in no time she has the bandage roll and the compress underneath off his arm and she starts cleaning the wound with antiseptic. Eliot stays stoic throughout, despite the harsh sting of the alcohol.

When she leans back and lets his arm go, he uses his other hand to get a look at the injury. There are stitches going up the side of his hand and halfway to his elbow, in a ragged line that indicates it was not a clean cut. No wonder it hurts. At least it doesn't feel like the wound is infected.

“It doesn't look very good,” Sophie says. They told her about the explosion, but she still sounds a bit rattled. “Do you know what caused it?”

“Shrapnel, I guess. I was knocked out by the blast. How many stitches?”

“About thirty, I'd say. It's still bleeding a bit, but none of them look torn, so I'll just change the dressing, alright?”

Eliot nods and hands her back his arm. Sophie catches his left hand before he can wipe it on his pants. “Careful, there's blood on your hand.”

“Thanks,” Eliot says. The blood must have been mixed with the antiseptic. He leans his elbow on his thigh instead so that his hand stays off anything it might smear blood on and grits his teeth while Sophie bandages his arm again. “You'll be alright?”

“Yeah, it's fine. Thank you.”

Eliot gets up to wash up his hand under the sink, then checks the new dressing. It's smoothly made and secure. He hears Sophie throw away the compresses and old bandage tape and shifts to give her space to wash her own hands.

“So, what gave me away?” he asks casually.

His job involves a healthy amount of grifting, and he plays sighted characters often enough. He doesn't usually try to fool people for as long as he did Parker and Hardison, because the longest a grift is, the more demanding it becomes, but he can con most people for a few hours. Sophie needed all of two minutes in close quarters with him to notice.

“I pay attention,” Sophie says.

“That doesn't answer my question,” Eliot points out.

He can hear Sophie's smile in her answer. “You turn your ear to noises instead of your eyes. But I wouldn't have figured it out if I hadn't seen your cane sticking out of your jacket.”

“Damn,” is all Eliot answers. He does tend to forget to look at things with his eyes, now. Eye contact has never been his forte, even before his blindness, but he usually remembers to turn his head in the right direction when someone talks to him, if only because it makes people uncomfortable when he doesn't. But if he hears, say, a microwave beeping, like the other day when Hardison made popcorn for their debrief, he might forget to look for the source of the noise with his eyes, like sighted people would. Eliot files it in his memory for later. Sophie really is observant.

“It was a good act, though,” she says. “I'm sure you have it in you to be a solid grifter. You just need to work at this a little more.”

 

The rest of the job goes amazingly well, given how it started. Perhaps it's because Sophie is truly impressive, once she is in her element. Or perhaps Nate is just that good at playing the mastermind criminal. Either way, Eliot is still piecing Nate's full plan together when they pick Sophie up from her shoe shopping spree to meet Nate in yet another park.

He hangs casually onto Sophie's elbow as they banter. He doesn't actually let her guide him but he is more relaxed than he ever is out in the streets on his own. Sophie gave him her arm the right way without hesitating, making Eliot wonder again if she's been around other blind people before.

Eliot almost jumps at Hardison's throat when the hacker hands him, for the second time, a perfectly useless piece of paper with something _printed_. After quickly checking that there is nothing on it he can work with, he growls, but none of the others seem to notice. They are busy making surprised noises and listening to Hardison infodumping on stock market fraud.

“This is the score,” Parker says. “ _The_ score.”

For Parker to say that, it must be something. But Eliot is still just as clueless. He assumes the sheet of paper in his hand is a check or something similar, but that doesn't _tell_ him anything.

“Age of the geek, baby!” Hardison jokes.

“Well, your age of the geek would do better to stop giving me printed stuff!” Eliot snaps. He hates feeling left out.

“Oops, sorry!” Hardison exclaims. “It's a proof of wire transfer. Money's already in your account.”

“Okay, but that doesn't tell me what you're so excited about.”

“It's a lot of money,” Sophie says, sounding both elated and embarrassed.

“Just check your phone,” Hardison says.

Eliot does with a scowl, quickly putting the earphone in his hear to listen to the text Hardison just sent him. When he hears the number, he understands. There are some things you just don't say out loud.

“Somebody kiss this man so I don't have to,” he says with a grin. But he also punches Hardison in the shoulder for his trouble.

“So, we're out. I mean, we're out, this is retirement money,” Hardison says.

“Yeah, uh, pleasure working with you,” Nate says.

The mood has suddenly gone from excited to strangely melancholy.

“One show only. No encores,” Eliot says reluctantly.

They have been damn good, but they are all solitary people. They couldn't work together for long. If they keep going, they will be stepping on each other's toes within days.

“I already forgot your name,” Parker says.

But then why does it feel so wrong? Why does Eliot suddenly want nothing more than to keep going with this crew?

They really have been damn good. And conning a bad guy, an actual crook, felt _different_.

And though Eliot would never admit it to anyone, these people have somehow already found a place in his heart.

He wonders idly where they are all going now, especially Nate. Can the man go back to a life exclusively made of depression and alcohol after this?

Eliot feels Nate walk past him, and he has to keep himself from grabbing his arm. But the other three have already started walking away in different directions, and soon Eliot is alone. Sighing, he swipes the floor in front of him a few times, using the taps his cane makes on the pavement to orient himself.

Before he is even out of the open space, a small hand taps the back of his left hand. Eliot grabs the arm almost instinctively, out of habit, though he heard Parker coming. She doesn't say anything when he stops swiping with his cane and only uses it as a bumper, trusting her as a guide, but he can feel the spring in her steps.

Hardison is at his other side seconds later, falling into step with them.

“Let's go find Nate and Sophie,” he says.

Eliot smiles. Things will be interesting for a little while longer.


	2. Homecoming Job

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What are you doing?” Hardison asks over the phone, half a world away.
> 
> “Nothing,” Eliot answers, kicking his last opponent with his foot to make sure he's unconscious. “Why?”
> 
> “Then get your ass over here, 'cause we're back in business."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [canon-typical violence, hospitals, mentions of spinal injuries, mentions of food/alcohol, canon mentions of suicide]
> 
> It took me way too long to finish, but here is the second chapter, based on the Homecoming Job. We get to know a little more about what happened to Eliot and what his life looks like, and the team coming together.
> 
> A couple of things have been asked in the comments (here and on ffnet), which I wanted to address for everyone to see:
> 
> \- Human echolocation is as real as it gets, though it is somewhat rare. I've done a lot of research on this and made it as realistic as I could.
> 
> \- A guest on ffnet (in case you're reading this, thank you for your comment, though I can't answer you personally) commented on my using "identity first language" rather than "person first language". I don't know if it was about using blind, autistic or disabled, but being two of those, I never use person first language, and thus my characters won't either. Personal preference should always be respected, but the autistic community at the very least overwhelmingly prefer identity first language as I do (that is "an autistic person/being autistic" rather than "a person with autism/having autism")
> 
> Enjoy this chapter!
> 
> [Edit] I somehow forgot to mention that this chapter was beta read by the great Celestialskiff, thanks to whom we have a well-paced chapter free of grammar/spelling mistakes!

“What are you doing?” Hardison asks over the phone, half a world away.

“Nothing,” Eliot answers, kicking his last opponent with his foot to make sure he's unconscious. “Why?”

“Then get your ass over here, 'cause we're back in business,” Hardison says. “You need a plane ticket?”

“To where?”

“Los Angeles. We're setting up our offices there and everything.”

“Good, then I already have what I need,” Eliot says. Is it a coincidence that Nate decided to set up shop in the same city Eliot has lived in since losing his sight, or is it a concession to his circumstances? Eliot reminds himself Los Angeles is also where Nate raised his son, though he hasn't lived there since he divorced. It might have nothing to do with him at all.

By the time Eliot gets to the address Hardison texted him, a little under twenty hours after his phone call, he is tired and annoyed. He's spent the last five days on a retrieval job for a regular client, but it feels less rewarding when the payment barely registers above the outrageous amount of money now in his accounts. He has donated a lot of the payout from their first job to various charitable organizations, but even that has hardly lowered the numbers.

Coming back from Berlin has been a hassle. Eliot has never enjoyed flying, even before losing his sight, but now that he is dependent on the good will of airport staff to get him where he needs to go, he actively hates it. The big, open spaces that make up airports are confusing and overwhelming, and they're about as inaccessible to him as anything can be, with all the information exclusively on screens and no way to tell where to go without sight. 

The airport staff and flight attendants are almost always friendly, but Eliot hates having to ask for help. No amount of flirting and joking with them will let him forget that this is one of the limitations he can't overcome, one of the many ways in which this society isn't made for him.

The two-hour flight delay in Philadelphia means he hasn't been able to do more than drop his bag at his apartment before coming here. He's operating on a nine-hour time difference, and he hasn't slept in twenty-eight hours. Yet he can't help smiling when he hears Parker's voice. He can distinguish her airy steps coming toward him from the street's background noise, though he only recognizes them when she starts speaking.

“Eliot!” she calls excitedly. “I've missed you!”

“Parker,” Eliot says more sedately, hiding his smile before he turns toward her.

She taps the back of his hand with hers, exactly as he showed her last time. She's more obvious about it than she needs to be, but it seems that with Parker, everything is more intense. Eliot grasps her elbow and lets her guide him inside the building, though he keeps swiping the floor with his cane. He tries not to limp or look stiff, but the flight was long and didn't do wonders for his neck.

“Sophie's already waiting for us upstairs,” Parker says. “Come on!”

Sophie joins them outside the elevator when they reach the last floor.

“Eliot, this is Sophie,” she says, adopting proper manners around blind people without Eliot having to tell her. He doesn't need her to say who she is, especially since he was expecting to meet her, but it is nice of her all the same. Not for the first time, Eliot wonders if she's known another blind person before.

“Sophie,” he says with a nod and a half-smile.

“Do I need to do that too?” Parker asks, once again offering her elbow.

“Do what?”

“Tell you who I am?”

“Nah, I know you now,” Eliot drawls. 

He doesn't ask her to warn him when she's around, either, because she won't remember to do it, and he's had enough training that he doesn't usually need it anyway. Parker may be light and silent on the job, but she's loud enough when she's not trying to hide. 

Eliot keeps using his cane in the corridor, using the sound the metal tip makes hitting the floor to give him a sense of what is around him. He takes note of every bend and door, to make sure he can walk back out on his own if he needs to. Parker stops in front of what sounds like a glass door, midway through Sophie explaining what she's done with her money.

The two women both let out a hiss of admiration when they walk through the door. Eliot doesn't know what has them react this way, but Parker slips through his grasp to go exploring, and he finds himself suddenly on his own in the middle of the room. He can't help tensing.

“What is this?” Parker asks from somewhere on his right.

“This is our new cover story,” Hardison says, walking into the room. “Welcome to Leverage Consulting and Associates, founded in 1913 by the great Harland Leverage the Third.”

Sophie suddenly starts laughing, and Eliot turns toward her sharply.

“I'm sorry,” she says toward Hardison. “Nate is going to kill you.”

Still clueless, Eliot huffs in annoyance at being left out and swipes the floor until he finds a table in the middle of the room. He walks slowly around it, trying to get a sense of the layout of the room.

“Anyone want to tell me what's so funny?” he asks.

“I'm so sorry, Eliot,” Sophie apologizes. “Hardison painted a portrait, and… I don't know how to says this...”

“It looks like Nate,” Parker says. “Sort of. Only older and out of the 1910s.”

Eliot tries to picture it, fishing out an image of Nate from before he went blind, but his brain comes up with no more than a mop of brown hair and an ugly tie. He swallows, trying to keep the pang of pain off his face. He has known he's started to forget faces for a while now, but it still bothers him every time.

“You paint?” he asks Hardison, shaking himself out of it.

“I'm gifted,” Hardison answers. 

Eliot just rolls his eyes. He has no way to judge Hardison's talent, but even Sophie seems impressed, so it must be good.

“It's weird,” Parker mock-whispers to him from behind.

Hardison doesn't respond to that and instead starts off on a monologue about the offices that Eliot only half-listens to. He is handed a phone and a file, which he almost discards as useless, but he pulls up short when he realizes the thickness of the folder comes from the multiple Braille-embossed sheets of paper inside. Skimming the top of the first sheet, he recognizes his own birth date, though not the name.

“Where did you find a Braille printer?” he interrupts Hardison. The others have started to move toward the open door on the right side of the room, but Eliot doesn't follow them, his cane tucked under his arm as he reads the rest of the document. It's a completely made up − and, Eliot has to admit, creative − resume for a new identity Hardison set up for him.

“I bought one,” Hardison says proudly, coming back toward him.

“You bought a Braille printer? How did you even know I read Braille?”

“Don't all blind people read Braille?”

Eliot groans. “No, only about ten percent. I can't believe you bought an embosser and didn't even research that.”

“Well, it's good that you read it, 'cause I bought you a Braille display as well,” Hardison says, completely unbothered. “It's all in your office.”

Unable to decide whether he wants to hug the man or hit his head on the desk from frustration, Eliot opts for closing the file and turns to the cell phone Hardison gave him. It feels close enough to his own phone that he can quickly figure out what each button is for, and pushing the right one reads out the time in a synthesized female voice.

“It's fully encrypted, and I took the liberty of looking into your phone to get you the same screen reader,” Hardison says.

“You hacked my phone?” Eliot asks, once again torn between gratefulness and annoyance. If he's going to work regularly with people like Parker and Hardison, he'll have to get used to the fact that none of his possessions are safe. Thankfully his secrets are better guarded than his cell phone.

“It also has GPS and a home-made text-to-speech synthesizer. The screen reader can connect to your comm unit,” Hardison continues, ignoring him. “I'll show you how later. Now come on, Nate's waiting for us.”

*

Eliot gets his first chance at exploring the offices after the briefing, though he really wants to go home and crash onto his bed. Hardison's high-tech conference room is not going to be of much use to him, but the younger man proudly describes every inch to him. The chairs are comfortable, at least, since it sounds like they are going to spend quite a bit of time in here, and the sound system is impressive. Even Corporal Perry's cheap camcorder video came out good enough for him to distinguish the weapons.

Hardison leads him down the corridor to his new office, awkwardly letting Eliot take his elbow.

“Nate's office is up front, since he's the boss,” he chatters on the way. “I put you all the way in the back, because the printer makes a hell of a racket when it's embossing. I could hear it from the other side of the building. That okay?”

“Sure,” Eliot says.

“There we are,” Hardison says, opening the door at the end of the corridor. “Desk's in front of you, you have a couch on the left, and the printer's at the back by the windows. I gave Sophie the corner office beside you, since I figured she'd appreciate it more than you.”

“What,” Eliot asks dryly. “I don't get to enjoy the view?”

Hardison's answering laugh is more relaxed than he's been with Eliot since he learned about his blindness. Eliot counts that as a win.

“Seriously, though, I tried to get you everything you need, but tell me if there's anything I missed−” Hardison says, real concern in his voice.

“It's fine, man, I think you've got it covered. Just let me get used to this place,” Eliot says. 

Hardison's already done far more than he expected. Braille displays and printers are awfully expensive and most people just work with the cheaper voice outputs. 

Eliot likes Braille more than he likes listening to the synthesized computer voice, because it feels closer to reading print and he used to love that. Mastering Braille was one of those few things that truly felt like an accomplishment, untainted by the bitterness of having to relearn everything else. He does buy audiobooks, mostly because there aren't that many books available in Braille and they take up a lot more space that the tapes, but he uses the Braille display on his Pocket computer more than the voice output.

He can feel Hardison's gaze on him as he  explores his new office in his own way, until Eliot raises an eyebrow at him and Hardison self-consciously backs out of the room, leaving him on his own. Eliot runs his hand on the furniture, noticing the space between each piece and the way they are arranged, making note of what he'll need to move. The desk and the cabinet beside it are just close enough that he's bound to bang his hip on the corner of one or the other when trying to walk in between, and the couch would be well replaced by a fold-out bed, so he can stay the night if he needs to.

The embosser takes up a large part of the far corner, and it looks like ones he's come across before. Running his finger on the command board, Eliot smiles at the raised dots on each button. This is a machine he won't need help to use.

The computer is another matter. Contrary to Eliot's Pocket computer, this is a regular PC, complete with a screen, in which Hardison just plugged the brand new Braille display. It doesn't seem to have his usual screen reader software installed, since the display remains blank and none of the keystrokes he tries seem to turn it on. Eliot grumbles under his breath and gives up for now, walking out of the office instead to explore the rest of the floor.

He finds Parker in the break room. He can feel her gaze on him as he explores the furnishing − better than most break rooms, with not only a good quality coffee machine but also a large fridge and a kitchenette − but her watching him doesn't feel in any way awkward. She fidgets noisily with some kind of plastic toy and Eliot can tell she is curious, so he lets her observe him go through the cabinets slowly, careful not to tip anything over.

Eliot takes out a mug and starts looking for anything resembling tea bags, hoping Nate was the one who went shopping and not Hardison. Hardison's kitchen in Chicago was basically unused and contained little other than microwave popcorn, candy and sodas. Eliot doesn't even know how the man can survive on that.

He finds a promising box in the cabinet above the sink, but there is no way to tell if it is in fact tea unless he opens it. It smells faintly of bergamot, so Eliot bets on Earl Grey.

“Parker,” he turns to her, “that's tea, right?”

Parker doesn't answer, instead groaning in pain as she hits something.

“What are you doing?” Eliot asks.

“I want to know what it looks like for you,” Parker says. “This place, I mean.”

Eliot groans as he understands she's been trying to cross the room with her eyes closed. Unless he's hearing wrong, she veered right and ran into the table.

“Banging your hips on furniture ain't gonna help with that. Walking straight is a bit of an acquired skill.”

Parker hums, still rubbing her hips vigorously.

“It's Earl Grey,” she says.

“Thanks,” Eliot answers. “You want to see how it's done? Come here.”

Parker skips over, stopping close to him but not quite touching. Eliot takes that to mean that she doesn't want to right now, because she's been fairly tactile with him before, so it's not just shyness. He's not particularly in a tactile mood either, so this suits him fine.

“Close your eyes,” he says. “Mug's here. Can I take your hand?”

“Yeah,” Parker says.

Eliot slips his hand around Parker's, his grip purposefully firm. “We want to fill the mug with water. Sink is on the left.” He guides her hand over, staying behind her. “Gimme your other hand.”

Parker move her arm against him and he grabs her hand, curling it around the faucet head. “Mug goes underneath. You want your finger inside so you can tell when to stop.”

“Like this?” Parker asks. 

Eliot checks that she's holding the mug vertically enough, with one finger in.

“Yes. Now you turn on the water with your other hand and fill it up until you feel the water.”

“Got it.”

“Good. Now let's put it in the microwave, okay? It's a bit trickier.”

Eliot has no problem making himself tea, but he vividly remembers having to learn all these things, and how complicated it seemed back then. Of course, this is only a game to Parker, she doesn't have the pressure and the anxiety that come with needing to get it right,  _needing_ to be able to this independently, but he still takes a leaf out of his occupational therapist's book.

“Do you remember where it is?” he asks. He himself noted the exact position of the microwave earlier, but Parker might not have, since she doesn't need to know in advance.

“On the table by the wall. Door opens on the left.”

Then of course, she is a thief. Knowing exactly where things are is part of her job.

“One hand on the mug, elbow up to protect your face. The other at hip height, you don't want to hit the table again.”

Together, with Eliot still standing close to Parker but not touching her, they make it to the table. Parker obviously remembers the configuration of the microwave, because she goes directly for the door opener and only fumbles a little placing the mug inside.

“Good job,” Eliot tells her. “How did that feel?”

“Weird,” Parker says. “Fun, but also kinda scary. Will you teach me more?”

Eliot is honestly amazed she hasn't lost interest yet, so he nods. “Sure. Not right now, though. Can you help me with that?” He gestures to the microwave's commands.

There are two dials and several buttons, but nothing to differentiate them. Eliot will have to do something about that, find a way to label them properly, but in the meantime he can't use it on his own.

“There,” Parker says, guiding his fingers to one of the dials. “To set the time, then the button on the right to start it. See, there are notches for every minute up to ten, then every five minutes.”

“Thanks.”

Eliot goes back to get a tea bag from the box and drops it into the steaming mug when the microwave beeps. This feels like heresy, after learning to make tea in the Chinese countryside. Eliot wishes he could make himself proper tea, but there's no kettle and microwaving is a lot easier than trying to pour hot water into a mug without burning himself. He has better tools at home, but here this will have to do.

Maybe if Sophie invests in a kettle and tea leaves − she seems the type, and she's British − he'll bring in a Liquid Indicator. That is, if their crew makes it through their second job.

*

By evening, he's less than certain that they will. Sure, they coordinated well on searching DuFort's office, though Nate grumbled about having to be the waiter. Eliot just waved his white cane, “How do you think I would do, going through the crowd with a tray full of champagne glasses?”

But now the man they're supposed to be helping is in danger of being strangled in his sleep, and they're likely to be too late. And while this kind of situations is nearly business as usual for Eliot, he can hear Nate's frantic impatience at the wheel, Sophie's worried voice. This isn't what they signed up for. No one was supposed to get hurt.

As he scrambles out of the car, Eliot wonders, idly, why exactly they think he's here.

He doesn't realize until he's outside that he never asked what hospital Corporal Perry is in. Despite the fact that the late hour brings a quietness to the street by the front entrance that is never there during the day, he recognizes the place immediately. After all, this is where he first learned to navigate sidewalks and traffic by ear.

It's the same rehab center he spent nine months in, four years ago. 

It's five blocks away from his apartment, so he should have recognized the route, but somehow he already trusts Nate enough that he didn't bother to keep track of the turns. This crew seems to be insinuating itself under his skin far too quickly.

He doesn't have time to reflect more on his feelings before Nate ushers him inside. There's a good chance that Perry is already in danger, and they have to get moving.

“I'll go get Perry,” Nate says. “I know where his room is. Eliot?”

“I'll find us an exit route,” Eliot says. It's his job, after all, making sure they all get out safely.

“Should I come with you?” Sophie asks.

Eliot shakes his head. He knows the hospital, and the rehab center especially. “No, go with Nate. I'll be fine,” he says.

He doesn't wait for an answer before heading off. He walks down several corridors, checking that the fire exits are clear. With his cane sweeping the floor in front of him, he has no trouble passing off as a patient to the few nurses on night duty, and he doesn't look lost enough for them to bother him.

When Nate declares that Perry is out of his room, Eliot adds finding him to his mental checklist. The corridor are quiet and empty, with only the low level chatter coming from his right to tell him where the nurse’s station is. This isn't an ICU where things are always busy. The rehab center sleeps with its patients, with only a couple of nurses and one doctor on duty at this time of the night.

“We've got him,” Nate says in the earbud. “We've got to get you out of here now,” he adds for Perry.

Eliot can't help cringing at Perry's remark to Sophie, “I'm in a wheelchair, I'm not blind.” Muttering under his breath that being blind doesn't prevent you from hooking up with beautiful women, he almost misses what's off with the two men who walk past him.

They are wearing the wrong shoes.

Eliot has spent enough time listening to doctors and nurses walk down hospital corridors to know exactly what the sensible soft plastic shoes they all wear sound like. Those men are wearing combat boots.

“Are you...wait, I know you,” a voice he recognizes vaguely says from behind him.

Ignoring her entirely, Eliot breaks into a run and tackles one of the two men to the floor. He hears Nate's voice at the other end of the corridor at the same moment, though his brain takes a second to locate him properly since he also heard him through the comm at the same time. 

Engaged in a close fight with the guy who didn't fall − the trick is to keep him within arm’s reach, to be able to anticipate his moves − Eliot misses Nate trying to help by throwing a wheeled bed into the other mercenary's way. He hears the man double over too late to stop his own forward move and crashes painfully into the bed railing, along with his opponent. A knife clatters to the floor. Cursing, Eliot picks himself back up and does his best to ignore the pain radiating out of his hip in favor of knocking out the man, who is trying to grapple him to the floor.

The second man is on him the moment the first's grasp loosens. Eliot kicks out with his right leg, connecting with flesh, but it makes him overbalance, his left foot too rigid in its splint to compensate. He has to jump backward, awkwardly, to avoid the knife coming to his side, and just like that, he's lost the advantage. The man is too far out of his fighting space. 

Eliot still knows exactly where he is, a click of his tongue enough for echolocation, but he can't hear his stance, can't predict his moves. 

They face each other for a moment, Eliot standing still and the other man circling around him. Eliot doesn't let him get between him and Perry, still at the end of the corridor with Nate and Sophie. He attacks − and knows immediately that he's guessed right. The man is well-trained enough to have figured out he's fighting a blind guy, and that, ironically, has made him lower his guard enough to give Eliot the opening he needs. People always underestimate him.

The man feints right, assuming Eliot won't be able to tell, but Eliot's fist connects violently with his jaw. A second blow makes him double over, and the third crumple on the floor. Eliot takes the time to check that he's unconscious and kicks the knife out of his hand. He does the same, more slowly, with the second man.

“What the hell was that?” he shouts toward Nate, indicating the turned over gurney that hit his hip.

“Sorry!” Nate says.

“I know you were trying to help, but don't,” Eliot says, taking a second to assess his environment. He's lost his cane in the fight and he isn't sure where it is. “You'll only make it harder if I don't know where you are and what you're doing.”

Fighting takes enough concentration that he can't afford to try to keep track of everything else. More people getting involved means more parameters to be aware of, and that makes his job more complicated. Eliot makes a mental note to make this clear to the crew as soon as he gets the chance.

They don't have time to waste right now, though. They need to get Perry to safety and figure out where to go from there, and they need to do it fast, before they encounter more mercenaries coming to take him out.

Eliot starts swiping the floor carefully with an extended foot for his cane, then remembers he doesn't have to do it alone. “Where's my cane?” he asks, annoyance seeping through his tone.

“Over here,” Nate says. Eliot opens his mouth to point out that it doesn't help him, but Sophie is at his side suddenly, tapping his arm with his cane so he can grab it. “Thanks,” he says instead. “You've got Perry?”

“Yes. Corporal Perry, this is Eliot Spencer,” Sophie says.

“Corporal,” Eliot says with a nod towards where he can hear the shape of the wheelchair. 

“Nice to meet you,” Perry says after a silence, sounding a little awkward. 

Eliot is puzzled for a second until Sophie adds, “Eliot's blind.” Perry probably offered a hand and thought Eliot was ignoring him.

“Oh,” Perry says sheepishly. “Sorry.”

Eliot shrugs and turns to Nate. “We need to go. Elevator?”

“Behind you,” Nate answers.

*

“Where are you taking him?” Eliot asks Nate when he joins them back at the hospital entrance after clearing things with Dr LeRoque−who would have called the police right away if she hadn't recognized him as a former patient. Sophie is getting Corporal Perry's wheelchair into the car trunk.

“Hardison's set us up a bunch of safe houses along with the office. Closest is… five miles from here. He can stay there until we've figured this out.”

“Wait, is it accessible?”

“Damn. Hardison, is it accessible?” Nate relays as he starts the car.

“Let me check,” Hardison says over the comms. “I don't really know. The building has an elevator, but I haven't actually been there.”

“Did it say it was accessible when you rented it?” Eliot asks.

“I don't know, man, I got it furnished and everything!” Hardison snaps. “Wait, no, the ad didn't say anything about that.”

“Then we can assume it ain't. Do you have any other safe houses in the area?”

“One. But it's on the fifth floor of a building that doesn't even have an elevator, so I guess that's out.”

“Damn,” Eliot curses. He considers the issue for half a minute, but there's only one solution he can think of. “Nate, do a U-turn. I have somewhere we can go.”

Refusing to answer the others' questions, he guides Nate back to his apartment. He's owned the place for years, and he hopes he won't have to give it up because of this, but it will do fine as a safe house. None of the others live anywhere close to this part of the city, and they need to get off the streets before anyone tries to track them.

He goes to unlock the door to the first floor apartment, leaving Nate and Sophie to help Perry out of the car.

“Eliot, is this your place?” Sophie asks as she enters last and closes the door behind her.

“Yeah,” Eliot answers.

He lets her look around as he goes to get some clean bed sheets and something Perry can change into, since he wasn't able to bring a bag of his own. After a moment's reflection, he goes ahead and changes the sheets on the bed himself, knowing it wouldn't be easy for Perry. He takes a blanket and a pillow out for his own use.

“Corporal, the bedroom's yours,” he says, walking back into the living room. “I'll take the couch, it's a fold-out and it's pretty comfy, so don't worry about it.”

“Wow, thanks,” Perry says. He still seems shaken, but he's also clearly impressed. There's something like admiration in his voice. “Back there…thanks for taking out those men. I wouldn't have been able to escape them.”

“You're welcome,” Eliot really smiles for the first time tonight. “Hitting people's my job.”

“But you're blind.” Perry's tone turns tentative.

“I am,” Eliot nods.

When he doesn't elaborate, Nate says, “Okay, now that you're settled, we really need to get on with things. Eliot, Sophie, you coming?”

“Yeah,” Eliot says. “Corporal, I probably won't be back for a few hours, so make yourself comfortable, okay? Do you need any help?”

“I'm good, thanks. How long do I need to stay here?”

“We'll try to fix things as quickly as we can, but it will be a few days,” Nate answers. “I'm sorry this will hinder your rehab a little, but if you stay in the hospital they'll just keep coming for you.”

*

Eliot empties the bag he took off one of the mercenaries onto the conference room table. He can feel − and recognize − the weight of the gun, the distinctive 'clong' it makes hitting the table. Without bothering to check what else is in the bag, Eliot grabs the weapons and empties it, tossing the magazine away.

“Money, cigarettes, knife, sunglasses, a piece of paper,” Parker rattles off. Eliot smiles at her in thanks. “And the gun.”

“Registered in Robert Perry's name,” Hardison says.

“'I can't live with the pain, I'm sorry…',” Sophie reads. “This is a suicide note.”

Eliot hears the clink of glass on glass, a slosh, followed by Nate's footsteps.

“Nate, one of the guys was ex-Marine, probably Force Recon, by the way he used his knife,” he says. “These guys aren't there to play. They're gonna come after us.”

“You ID'd a guy off his knife-fighting style?” Hardison asks.

“It's a very distinctive style,” Eliot grumbles.

There is a lull in the room, only broken by Nate taking a sip of his liquor.

“I didn't sign up for any of this,” Hardison says. “What I did before, no one go hurt.”

“I stole painting for a living,” Sophie says.

“I never hurt anybody,” Parker shrugs.

Eliot feels all eyes turned toward him, waiting for his reaction, and he bites his lips.

None of them are good people, not really. They're on the wrong side of the law, and Eliot doubts Sophie or Hardison really cared whether their cons hurt anyone before. Maybe they never hurt anyone on purpose, but large scale jobs always have collateral damage.

Parker doesn't seem to care enough to check whether she's stealing from someone who can afford it, but her taste for very shiny, very expensive prizes probably made sure her marks were rich, at least.

 

And Nate may have been an honest man once, but he's started to reveal a side of him Eliot only glimpsed at, back when they worked together years ago. Nate's sense of justice is only matched by his twisted way of looking at the world.

But even when they are at their worst, the world they know is not the world Eliot lives in.

And now that Perry is staying in his apartment, involved in their con, it's his responsibility to keep him safe. And to keep the others out of the more dangerous side of this.

“I hurt people for a living,” he says finally, though it's not what his job is really about. “I'll make sure Perry's safe, but we have to finish this.”

“If anything happens to this kid−” Sophie trails off.

“It won't,” Eliot says.

“You can walk out anytime you want,” Nate says, annoyed, taking another drink of what Eliot assumes is whiskey.

“We finish this one,” Parker says.

*

Nate gives Eliot a ride back home after their debrief, because it's too late for his car service and it's easier than getting a cab. He'll need to get a place within walking distance of their new offices, he thinks as he lets himself in.

He tries to make as little noise as possible setting up the couch and taking a blanket and pillow out of the closet, and crashes without bothering to remove more than his jacket and shoes. With the adrenaline leaving his body, he's exhausted. Hell, he was exhausted when he rode back from the airport fifteen hours ago. All he's had since is a twenty minute nap in his office, on the uncomfortable couch he needs to change.

Eliot rarely sleeps for long, though, and he's up again before dawn. He's still awfully tired, and hurting more than he'd like. He forgot to ice the large bruise on his hip last night, and it's tender under his fingers, but his leg is the real culprit. Even with his splint strapped on, he can't help the slight limp.

He takes the time to shower and change, then decides he needs to get some groceries if he's going to feed a second person for the next few days. He normally gets most of his shopping delivered, at least what he doesn't get at the farmers' market, but with Perry hiding out here, he can't afford to have someone come over. Which means he has to go to the store and get someone to help him find what he needs. Damn. He hates having to rely on strangers' help for the simplest things.

By the time Eliot comes back, Perry is up and about. Eliot greets him and goes directly to put away the food and make them some coffee, trying to curb his bad mood to be civil to his guest. When he comes back into the living room, Perry is seated at the table, where he has presumably removed a chair to make space for his wheelchair.

“So how's the rehab going?” Eliot asks, sitting down and passing him a mug. He's already decided not to tell Perry about the fake suicide note they found, or the gun registered in his name, because the young man doesn't need to be more scared than he already is.

“Well, no one seems to be sure about my legs, but my upper body strength is definitely getting better,” Perry answers, keeping his tone light.

“That's the spirit,” Eliot smiles. He grows more serious as he asks, “How long as it been? About two months, right?”

“Give or take a few days, yes, why?”

“Give it time. I know it's hard, but you have to be patient.”

“That's what everyone keeps telling me.” Perry's voice turns bitter. “It just doesn't feel like it's ever going to get better, you know?”

“Yeah, I know,” Eliot says soberly. “But if you push too hard, it's just gonna come back to bite you in the ass. What you were doing last night, pushing yourself without the supervision of your therapist? A single fall could set you back weeks.”

Perry sighs. “And how would you know about that?”

“For one, I know what it's like to hear the pity in people's voice when they see you,” Eliot evades, his voice tight.

“Does it get easier?” Perry asks.

“No. But you get used to it, a bit. And you might not have to. There's a good chance you'll walk again, right?”

“Maybe. But it's unlikely I'll get back to full strength, I'll probably have a limp all my life.”

“Then you'll adapt,” Eliot says.

“You do know a lot about this, don't you?”

Eliot frowns. “What do you mean?”

“This is your place,” Perry says slowly. “But it has a wheelchair-accessible kitchen, and bathroom bars. At first, I thought they might just have come with the apartment, but then why would you have a shower seat? I started to put two and two together when you said you knew what it was like.”

Eliot sighs, but nods. He hasn't planned on discussing it, but Perry is observant. And he clearly needs someone he can relate to.

“Yes, I do know,” he says. He pulls up his hair and turns his head to show Perry the twin surgical scars at the back of his neck. “I was at the same rehab center you're in, that's why I live so close by.”

“So what was it?” Perry asks. “You know what happened to me.”

“I broke my neck and injured my spinal cord,” Eliot says. “Incomplete quadriplegic. I regained function in my right side fairly quickly, but the left took a little longer.” 

“Wow. I can't imagine. At least I can still use my arms. How long was it, before you were…back to normal?”

Eliot shifts uncomfortably. “Normal is...what you make it be. I'm not the person I was before. I became blind at the same time, for one thing.”

“Gosh.”

“But you meant how long until I could walk again, right? It took a while. I still have bad days, and my left side will always be weaker,” Eliot adds after a moment of consideration. It's not something the crew knows yet, and he doesn't really intend to tell them until he has to. But Perry deserves to know something of what's ahead of him. Eliot kicks off his shoe to show him the thermoplastic splint strapped on his lower leg. “This helps.”

“That must have been quite a ride,” Perry says. “The doctor's saying I might still need physio for another year and a half, but it feels like it might as well be forever, right now.”

“You'll be walking before then, I'm sure.” Eliot bends down to tie his shoe back on.

“How long ago was it?” Perry asks.

“Almost four years,” Eliot answers. Getting up, he busies himself with putting away the remains of their breakfast.

“Watching you fight last night, it looked like you've done this your whole life,” Perry says, wheeling himself back to the table.

“I have, pretty much,” Eliot answers. “Close combat isn't all that different sighted or blind. I just had a good teacher to help me make adaptations.”

“Still, it was really impressive. Especially knowing how far you've come.”

“Yeah, well you'll get there too, I'm sure,” Eliot smiles. “You know what you want to do when you get back on your feet?”

“Not really. It's been a hard couple of months.”

“Will you be on your own when you get discharged?”

“Yeah, should happen in the next few weeks. My occupational therapist has me looking at places around here, but it doesn't feel right, you know? There's so few fully accessible apartments, and I don't really want to need one, I guess.”

“Yeah, I know,” Eliot says. He remembers how big a step it was, buying this place. It both felt like a new freedom to finally get out of the hospital and a scary leap into the unknown, learning to accept that his disability wasn't going to go away overnight and that he needed the accommodations that came with the pitying stares and limitations of an ableist society. “However hard this feels, it will be a lot harder if you can't be independent because you won't accept the proper accommodations, though. Even if it's just temporary.”

Perry hums non-concomitantly. Eliot lets it go, deciding it isn't his problem anyway.

“Tell you what,” he says, “when you're settled in your own place, come to the Carlton Martial Arts Studio. I'll give you the address. The owner used to work at the rehab center, and he's really good at building special training programs. He might be able to help you.”

“Maybe I'll try to come,” Perry says. Eliot nods, knowing this is the best he can hope for.

*

During the next three days, as they work full time on bringing down Castelman Security, Eliot is only in his apartment to sleep, and he finds little time to talk with Perry again.

Eliot is more used to dealing with mercenaries and soldiers than with the politicians who hire them, but Nate and Sophie are right at home conning DuFort and Congressman Jenkins. It's beautiful in a strange way, how their plan falls together seamlessly. Eliot's job is messy at the best of times, but he's learning from the best that there can be another way to do things.

And they're learning from him, as he takes every precaution to keep Perry safe, that there is a world of violence out there that they barely suspected. He's pretty sure that word has gone back to DuFort's hired mercenaries that Perry is well-protected, and that using brute force to eliminate him is not likely to work, but Eliot still makes sure he's well hidden. He checks the perimeter every night for suspicious cars or passersby, even has Hardison hack into the street's security cameras to monitor the entrance to his building. Hardison obviously thinks it's overkill, but Eliot doesn't let him slack off.

On the fourth day, Eliot gets a ride back to his apartment in the middle of the afternoon.

“I didn't expect you back yet,” Perry tells him when he walks in. “I mean, this is your place, but I thought you might be working until late again.”

“Not today,” Eliot says. “We're done. I don't have a TV, so you might not have heard yet, but Castelman's CEO has been arrested, along with the Congressman he bribed.”

“Does that mean I'm not in danger anymore?” Perry asks.

“Yes. We're wrapping up the job as we speak. We have a little surprise for you. Are you ready to go back to rehab?”

“Hell yes. What's the surprise?”

“Wouldn't be a surprise if I told you now, would it? You okay to go back on foot? It's about five blocks away.”

“It will be on wheels, in my case, but it will be good exercise.”

Eliot laughs. “ A void ing those phrases  isn't worth the trouble. People always tell me to look at things.  If I had a penny for every time someone apologizes for  that , I'd be pretty rich by no w. ” Well, it wouldn't really make him much richer − there's very little that could, now − but Perry doesn't need to know that.

They have a moment of awkwardness figuring out how to walk side by side, but it's quickly resolved. Rather than hold onto Perry's wheelchair at the risk of slowing him down, Eliot opts for walking a little further to his side and slightly in front, since he's the one who knows the way, and he doesn't want his cane to snag into Perry's chair.

“Could you go get Dr LeRoque?” he asks when they reach the front entrance of the hospital. He can hear the truck parked in front, and as soon as Perry is gone the crew assembles around him.

“How is he doing?” Sophie asks.

“He'll be fine,” Eliot says. “I'm sure what we have in the truck will make him happy enough to forget the long road ahead for a few days.”

He realizes belatedly how melancholy that sounded. “He handled the threat to his life very well,” he adds. “He's strong.”

“That's good,” Sophie responds.

Eliot nods and turns around when he hears Perry coming down the driveway, along with someone who's walking.

“Hi guys,” Nate says.

“What do you want?” Dr LeRoque asks. She's on the defensive, still. She may have let Eliot get away with knocking out two mercenaries in her center and delayed talking to the police, but she still doesn't believe their team can do anything for her patients.

“Show them,” Nate tells Hardison, who unlocks the back of the truck.

“An empty truck?”

Eliot smiles when he hears the doctor's surprise at Hardison revealing the pallets of cash. They've done what they were here for, without any collateral damage. He's proud of his crew.

*

Once the shock of the reveal has gone away, Eliot makes his way back to Perry. Relief and disbelief are battling each other in his voice.

“I really don't know how to thank you,” he says. 

“Just work on putting your life back together, that's all the thanks we need,” Eliot says. “You got hurt serving your country, most of those guys did. We're just giving you what you deserve.” 

“Still, what you did… When I called Mr Ford, I didn't think my life was on the line, just my finances. Having me at your place must have put you in danger, too.”

“I know how to defend myself,” Eliot says.

“I've seen that,” Perry agrees. “So you take the hits. What does she do?”

“Who?”

“The blond.”

“Parker? She's a thief,” Eliot answers. “You should watch your wallet around her.”

“I think I would have noticed if she'd taken it,” Perry says cockily.

“You sure about that?”

Eliot hears Perry checking his bag. “No. It's gone. How did she do it?”

“Parker!” Eliot yells. “It's bad form to steal from our client!”

Parker saunters over. “But he's not our client any longer, is he?”

“Still, it's bad for business,” Eliot says, holding out his hand.

Parker drops the wallet in it. “Fine. I won't steal from a client again. Can I steal  _your_ wallet?”

“Parker...” Eliot growls under his breath, checking his pockets. “My phone, Parker. Give it back.”

“But it's fun!” Parker whines. “Look, it tells the time!”

Eliot hears the slightly metallic voice of his screen reader, and shoots out his hand in its direction. It closes on Parker's wrist, and she yelps. Eliot grabs the phone and lets her go.

“Don't steal from me again,” he grumbles, but there's no heat in his words.

“She's feisty, isn't she?” Perry says when Parker walks away.

“She's out of your league, Perry,” Eliot says.

“I think she might be a whole league of her own.”

Eliot laughs and nods his agreement. “Yeah, she sure is.”

He steps away from Perry and listens for his crew. Parker is back with Hardison and they're chatting excitedly to one side, obviously feeling the elation of completing a job and making someone happy. Parker even seems to have forgotten her earlier horror at giving away the absurd amount of cash they'd just scored.

Eliot can't hear Nate anywhere, which probably just means he's quietly watching the scene, but Sophie is talking with Dr LeRoque. Eliot heads toward them.

“Obviously we're not going to leave you with a truck full of cash, that was just to satisfy Nate's taste for theatrics,” he hears Sophie say. “Hardison is going to set you up a donation fund so you can make use of the money legally.”

“Yes, I was wondering about that,” the doctor says. “Ah, Eliot,” she adds, noticing his approach. “I have to admit that when I saw you the other night, standing over two unconscious goons, I didn't quite expect you showing up with several millions in cash.”

“Well, you've always suspected I wasn't just a martial arts teacher, haven't you?” Eliot answers. “By the way, please try to convince Corporal Perry to come to the studio, I think it would do him some good.”

“I will,” she smiles. “What you've done...I still can't believe it. We've been struggling for years to take care of everyone.”

“We just did what the government should have done a long time ago,” Eliot says, holding out his hand.

“Well, It was nice to see you again. It's always a pleasure to see former patients doing so well,” the doctor answers _._ She shakes his hand firmly and steps away toward Nate. Eliot turns to Sophie, feeling her gaze on him.

“Ask your questions,” he growls. “While I'm in a good mood.”

“You were in rehab here?” Sophie asks.

Eliot nods. “Yes. After this happened,” he says, waving a hand in front of his eyes.

“They seem to mostly do physical therapy, though. Aren't there specialized centers for the Blind?”

“Sure,” Eliot shrugs, not elaborating. That he wasn't here because of his blindness isn't something he want to discuss with Sophie. Not yet.

Sophie doesn't push. Eliot realizes he's flexing his left hand unconsciously, and he has no doubt she has noticed it, but she's unlikely to have enough elements yet to interpret it.

“I want to see your apartment!” Parker exclaims, slipping between them. 

Eliot is confused for a moment as to who she's talking to, but Sophie doesn't react, and Parker hangs herself on his arm.

“Why?” he asks.

“You showed it to Nate and Sophie!”

Eliot snorts, amused at her specific brand of logic. “So you think you should see it too?”

“Yes!”

“You know I didn't really have a choice about bringing Nate and Sophie in, right?”

“I don't care! It still means you've got to show me.”

“Fine,” Eliot grumbles. He's not sure how pleased he really is with that idea, but where he lives is not a secret to his crew anymore, so there should be no harm. He's kind of flattered that Parker seems comfortable enough with him to ask.

“Does it mean I get to see where you live?” he asks her playfully.

He doesn't expect her to say yes, and he's perfectly willing to respect her boundaries, even if she tends to forget his.

“I don't know,” Parker answers. “Maybe?”

Surprised, Eliot gives her a wide smile before he remembers he's supposed to be the grumpy one.

“So you're both sticking around?” Hardison asks, rejoining them.

“One more,” Eliot nods. 

“Maybe two,” Parker adds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There it was! Please don't hesitate to tell me what you thought.
> 
> I really hope I won't need another six months to write the next chapter. It should be based on the Wedding Job, and it's about one-third written. I've got a lot written for this series (as in, about 130,000 words), but I can't seem to write anything in order, so most of it takes place much later in the series.

**Author's Note:**

> Since today is both my birthday and Christian Kane's, it seemed fitting to post the first of this series, but I don't know when the next instalment will come. I have a lot written, parts of a dozen short stories at least, as well as several dozen pages of notes spanning the series and five years beyond. But I don't write in order at all, and the second story is still in the works.  
> This series is fully fleshed in my head. It is technically, and will become, a Librarians crossover where Jake Stone is Eliot's twin brother. I have other potential crossovers in mind (mostly with White Collar) but those won't feature heavily in most stories.  
> Though I have done a lot of research, I am not blind myself, so I may have made mistakes in Eliot's portrayal here (I hope not, but call me out on it if you know what you're talking about). More about what happened to him will be revealed later, of course.  
> In this series, apart from being blind, Eliot is also autistic, and so is Parker (though that's basically canon). There are already a couple of great stories on this archive featuring an autistic Eliot (seriously, go read them: sad_eyed_lady_of_the_low_lands's My head is an Animal, and most of beckettemory's Leverage stories), from which I have tried not to steal anything but they have likely inspired me in conscious and unconscious ways. I am autistic myself, and I endeavour to portray realistic autistic characters, so don't hesitate to ask if you have questions regarding that aspect of the story.


End file.
